Dead of Summer

My stomach twists as it slams into me what I’m about to say. I should be committed, surely. At the very least, I should seek therapy, because there’s no way I can say I didn’t hate that first bite as much as I should’ve without also admitting I’ve lost my mind in the boathouse tonight.

Somehow, Kayde seems to know what I’m going to say before I do. His eyes narrow, delight and affection shining in them for just a second before they’re chased away by something darker and much less friendly.

“No,” I tell him, and the way it comes out as a challenge is unintentional, probably.

Hopefully.

“Oh, Summer…” His eyes flick down to my throat, then back up to my face. “I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me.” This time, he doesn’t surprise me with a quick, sharp bite. No, it’s worse, I think, as he kisses down my jaw, across my throat, until he can lick over the spot over my hammering, desperate pulse.

My fingers tighten again in the ropes over m. For all my false bravado, I can’t help the way my stomach flips and knots itself up or the soft, pleading whimper that leaves my lips unbidden. I don’t know if I’m begging him to do it, or begging him to stop.

I’m also not sure it really matters.

“Shhh, baby,” Kayde murmurs, cradling my face in his free hand. “Gonna be so pretty with my marks on your throat. Think Kins will ask about them? Ask who marked you up like this?” He presses his lips to my throat and adds, “They won’t scar, they’re too shallow. But fuck if that wouldn’t be so hot.”

I barely get a chance to work that thought through my barely working brain. I barely notice that his thumb has found my clit before he’s sinking his teeth—that feel too sharp and too dull at the same time—into my throat, biting down past the pleasant ache and into a white-hot-burn.

This time I keen. I can’t move, and my mind has no idea how to process the pleasure of his fingers fucking me, his thumb rubbing mercilessly over my clit, and worst of all, his teeth in my throat. I swear I can feel when he breaks skin, when his teeth find that extra little bit of give that lets him sink past where he should be forced to stop.

It hurts and burns and I can’t fucking stop making noise as I arch into him, my mind going blank?—

My release hits me harder than if someone had punched me in the nose. It short-circuits my brain and I can feel my thighs tremble as I come on Kayde’s still-thrusting fingers, my entire body seeming to be on the verge of shaking apart in his hold.

But if anything, that only encourages him. He doesn’t release my throat as quickly as he had the first time. He continues to finger me through my orgasm until I can feel the telltale warm wetness of tears creeping down my cheeks. My keening becomes sobs, and it’s then that he finally withdraws just enough, the burn fading just enough so that when he laps over my skin soothingly, a shiver of pleasure mixes with the sharpness of the pain.

Belatedly, I realize he’s talking to me, though it’s a monumental effort to turn my brain back on enough to hear and understand him.

“You’re so perfect, sweetheart. Made for me, weren’t you?” He slurs the words against my skin, like he can’t bring himself to pull away. His fingers are moving lazily inside me, his thumb barely twitching against my over-sensitive clit, and I’m grateful. Especially since without the ropes, I doubt I could hold myself up.

He seems to realize it too. His fingers withdraw, and if he ever asks about the low sound of disapproval that escapes me, I’ll deny it on pain of death. Kayde’s arm goes around my waist, supporting me, and he moves just enough that I’m leaning against him, my weight on his chest as he holds me up enough that I’m not hanging my tied arms.

“You like it when I bite you that much?” he rasps against my hair. I can feel him shift and when his other hand goes between us, but I have no idea what he’s doing, since his knuckles only bump against me occasionally. “Fuck, I didn’t think you would. Thought you’d make me stop. Baby girl, you’re making it impossible to do anything else but fuck you.”

“There was something else you wanted?” I groan, my eyes closed where they’re pressed against his shoulder.

“Yeah, absolutely.” His chuckle is low and rueful. “Told you, didn’t I? You were so fucking bad last night and I’m teaching you a lesson. The biting was just the foreplay. I maybe just got…carried away.” When he moves again, I open my eyes, surprised that he’s stepping away from me.

At least, until I see his jeans are unbuttoned and he’s fisting his hard length in a hand that slides lazily along his length.

“Figured there’s nothing better for that than to make you count out loud while I spank you, babe.” His words are just so…easy. So casual, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. But when he grins and shows off his too-white teeth, I can only groan and roll my head back on my shoulders.

“You’re killing me,” I complain, half aware of him circling around behind me. His arm circles my hips, dragging me back against him as far as the ropes will allow.

“Nah,” Kayde denies, resting his chin on my shoulder and turning to kiss my cheek. “If I killed you, that wouldn’t be any fun.” He leans forward, sliding his cock teasingly against my slit once, then twice. When he moves to do it again he shifts, just a little, and this time he presses into me, not stopping until he bottoms out, his thick length filling me up just as perfectly as it had two nights ago.

I can’t help the soft, needy sounds that pour from my lips. Especially when he rolls his hips into me, his rhythm languid and lazy. “Couldn’t kill you, Summer. Couldn’t that first day and now? When I’ve realized I’ve definitely done something right since you’re made so perfect for me? Would never kill you, Summer?—”

“You could talk about something other than killing me if you want,” I manage to say, cutting him off. He reaches up, one hand still around my waist, while the other curls around the base of my throat, pressing against the bites he left and dragging a whimper from my lips.

“What would you like me to talk about?” he hisses, picking up his pace. It feels like he doesn’t have much patience for more teasing tonight. There’s something desperate in his movements, like he needs this just as much as I do.

“The weather.”

“Sweetheart.” The word is more of a growl against my ear than anything else. “So mouthy with me when we’d just gone over that. Are you asking for more, Summer? Are you asking me to hurt you?” I can’t shake my head, not when I’m trapped against his body, with his hand around my throat.

He squeezes his thumb and middle finger, pulling a gasp from me before letting go. “I’m not done with you,” he promises. “You haven’t turned me sweet just yet, I promise. If you’re not begging me to let go with the little air you have left, then I’m not doing it right.”

“Don’t want to?—”